When the Night Changes
by azkabcn
Summary: Sequel to Their Young One Gone. [I dug my palms into the counter. I took a sharp breath. Tears clouded my vision and I turned my face away. I wiped my eyes but they were tear-filled once again. Even though my heart was telling me it had had enough now, my brain kept uncovering more and more memories of her, of us.] One-shot. Parentlock.


Today was the day. We were going to clean out Nevada's bedroom. We were going to take apart her bed, her wardrobe, her chest of drawers and store them up in the attic.

I woke and the other side of the bed was empty, so I guessed that Sherlock was already up. Or he hadn't slept in the first place, which seemed like the more probable option.

After all, it had been two months since Nevada… was gone and I had only slept peacefully at night for the previous three nights. And that was only because I was too tired to stay up any longer.

Sherlock took more time than me to get accustomed to things. Plus the fact that he was used to staying up at night, when he was working on some case or another. I knew it would take him far longer than it took me to get used to the fact that Nevada was not going to be here anymore.

Sighing, I sat up in the bed, trying to ignore the fact that my heart felt about as light as a brick. Otherwise known as not light at all. This was a huge burden for us, for both Sherlock and myself and I doubted it would leave our hearts very soon.

I stood, and stretched, then made my way to the bathroom.

I trudged into the living room, still in my pyjamas. Sherlock sat in his chair with a newspaper in his grip. A mug sat on the table beside him. He was still wearing his t-shirt and cotton pants. As I neared him, I saw the dark bags under his eyes. I sighed again. It was option number two then.

'Morning, Sherlock,' I greeted. No response. 'Sherlock?' I said again. Nothing.

I knew better than to confront him, even though he was clearly upset (and I knew why). He would get cranky on me.

So I slipped into the kitchen, deciding to make myself a coffee.

As I fixed myself some breakfast, I couldn't help but wonder what today had in store for us. Probably some serious tearful attacks.

I didn't want to do this. I didn't want to be reminded that my daughter was gone. For good. I'd never see her beautiful face. I'd never see her grow into a wonderful woman. I'd never be able to walk her down the aisle.

 _Stop. Just stop._

I dug my palms into the counter. I took a sharp breath. Tears clouded my vision and I turned my face away. I wiped my eyes but they were tear-filled once again. Even though my heart was telling me it had had enough now, my brain kept uncovering more and more memories of her, of us.

I banged my fist on the counter. ' _Shut up_!'I yelled.

I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself. _Calm down, John Watson. Calm down._ At least the memories had stopped flooding my brain.

If I was Sherlock, I could just shove the information to the very back of my mind palace. But I wasn't Sherlock and I didn't have a mind palace. So I would just have to bear the information. I would just have to suck it up.

I took my coffee to the living room.

Sherlock had placed his newspaper next to his mug and leant his head in his hands.

Sherlock?' I asked. Again, there was nothing.

'Sherlock, are you OK?' I put my own mug next to my chair and stood in front of him. 'Sherlock,' I whispered. 'Listen to me.'

I took his hands away from his face and gasped. Tear stains lined his cheeks and his eyes were bloodshot. 'Oh, Sherlock…' I whispered.

He shrugged my hands off of his wrists and stood up. He walked to the door and stopped. I followed him with my eyes, my heart breaking with each passing second. I couldn't bear to see him like this. He was always so composed; normally he could hold himself together so well.

I saw his shoulders slump before he walked again. I sighed.

This was breaking him. This was breaking my man. I couldn't let that happen. I wasn't going to let it happen. I was going to help him through this. I would put my own needs aside and help Sherlock overcome the crisis that's hit him.

I gulped down my now cold coffee and set off after Sherlock. I ran up the stairs, two, three at a time. I saw Sherlock kneeling beside Nevada's bed. I went up to kneel beside him.

Tears were freely streaming down his cheeks in rivers. I swallowed; he would start me off soon.

Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around my neck, pulling me into a hug. I hugged him back as he buried his face in my chest. I held him, letting his tears soak the front of my t-shirt. I swallowed: this was his moment. I would let him cry by himself.

'I can't do this, John,' he whispered between sobs. 'I can't let her go. This is all I- this is all _we_ have left of her. This is our last hope of keeping her. If we get rid of it, then she's _gone_!'

'Shh,' I whispered. 'It's OK. It's OK, Sherlock.'

'But without this room, we'll forget her!'

'Sherlock. You are the world's only consulting detective. You can keep her in your mind palace,' I offered. 'You can keep her in your memories, Sherlock. I know you. I know you can do this.'

'But…'

'Look, Sherlock,' I said, holding him away from me. 'I get this is agonising. I hate this. It's horrible. But we have to move on. And we can slowly start doing that now.

'After another year or so, we can try and adopt-'

'NO!'

His outburst startled me so much that I jumped. 'What?'

'We. Are. _Not_. Going to adopt again,' he hissed, wiping his eyes. 'Not without Nevada.'

Suddenly, I managed to see everything through Sherlock's eyes. Nevada was his first child. Nevada was the only girl he could let into his life, family or otherwise. As much as he would deny it, he was emotionally attached to her. And I knew how painful it was to let go of something (or someone) you loved with every ounce of your heart.

So I said gently, 'Sherlock.'

He looked at me with a question in his eyes. 'Yes?'

'We can keep this room how it is. _Only_ if we find someone else to put in it.'

'But-'

'Sherlock, we're going to compromise. I loved Nevada, I really did. I still do. But we can't stay holed up forever.'

'Fine. But only if…' he trailed off.

'What?'

'Only if…' He leant up so his face was mere centimetres away from mine.

'Yes?' He leant even closer.

'You stay by me.' Closer. 'All through the painful process.'

Closer still.

And then the space between our lips was reduced to nothing. He wrapped his arms round my shoulders as I set mine on his chest. _I'll stay by you until the rest of my days, Sherlock._


End file.
